by Jeanne Allan
Gwen pushed away her food. “Bert left me more than some land and cows and horses. He left me his ancestral home, his heritage. The Winthrop legacy. It’s more than inheriting some land. Bert left me a home. I don’t care if your outlaw relative did live here. Jakob Stoner died robbing a bank. Surely that forfeits any rights he had. Bert said Gordon Winthrop fought for this land. He worked hard to hand the ranch down to his sons and their sons. Bert handed it down to me and I’m not going to let you take it away from me.”
“Gordon Winthrop? You never told me Bert’s last name was Winthrop. He was descended from Gordon Winthrop?”
“His grandson.”
“I’ll be double-dog damned,” Jake said softly. “So Gordon Winthrop got his filthy hands on the place after all.”
Gwen bristled. “I don’t know what you think you know about Gordon Winthrop, but Bert told me his grandfather was a fine and honorable man. The kind of man who helped build our country.”
“Built it on the backs of other men. When Winthrop came into this part of the country most of the land was taken. He bought up a few small places whose owners sold out after their herds were stampeded or their barns burned. He wanted my, that is, Jakob Stoner’s land for the water.”
“You said ‘my.’ My what? My ancestor’s land? Is that what you were going to say? You knew all along about Jakob Stoner. You knew he was an outlaw and you knew how he died. You knew Luther—”
“Whoa. Slow down. How do you know about Luther? What do you know about him?”
“What difference does that make? The point it is, he—”
“Tell me about Luther.”
Taken aback by Jake’s implacable tone of voice, Gwen stared across the table at him. No one looking at the hard face, the stony jaw, the granite eyes would ever doubt this man descended from outlaws. Her stare grew puzzled. Meanness didn’t knot arm muscles or make shoulders so tense they were almost painful to look at. Something about Jakob Stoner’s brother Luther affected Jake in a strange and powerful way. Gwen’s eyes widened. “Was Luther your great-great-grandfather or something?”
Jake looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Where’d you get a crazy idea like that?”
“He seems to matter so much to you.” She paused. “No, that’s not it,” she said slowly. “What you want to know is where he was killed, isn’t it? You think I know where the accident was. Why does it matter? Do you think he had the papers with him? You don’t even know where he and his baby were going.”
Jake opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to say in a strangled voice, “Luther had a baby?”
“Of course he had a family. Where do you think you came from? His little girl was killed, but there must have been more than one child.” Another thought struck her. “Unless there was a third brother. Was there?”
“Luther had a wife and child,” Jake said softly, almost reverently. “I’ll be double-dog damned.” He shook his head in pleased disbelief. “He must have married Marian.”
“I expect you know very well whom he married. You know all—” Gwen choked on her coffee. “Ms. Noble Blossom? He married her? You’re related to her?”
“No, I’m not—” He stopped abruptly. “I’ll be double-dog damned.”
“You already said that,” Gwen said tartly.
He gave her a weird look. “You know, honey, I believe, in a way, I might be related to Marian Olson. I’ll be—”
“Yes, I know. Double-dog damned. You already said that. What is so funny?”
“Me. And Marian,” he choked out between guffaws.
Gwen tapped the handle of her spoon on the table waiting impatiently for Jake to control his hilarity. When his laughter finally subsided to a few chuckles, she said, “I’m glad you find this so funny, but I am not the least bit amused, Mr. Stoner. And don’t call me honey. I don’t permit people who are trying to steal my ranch out from under me to call me anything other this Ms. Ashton.”
“Whoa, back up there, honey. I think I missed something in the conversation. You’re accusing me of trying to steal your ranch?”
Tears pricked the back of Gwen’s eyelids. She’d liked Jake Stoner. Liked his kisses. Was starting to like the slow, intimate way he said “honey.” As if she were someone special to him. She’d even been foolish enough to dream about a future with him. A dream which Prudence’s phone call had shot to smithereens. Anger had thus far sustained her. Now sorrow and grief for the loss of what might have been overwhelmed her. Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t do this, Jake. Don’t play games.”
“Well now, honey,” he drawled, “seems to me, if any games are being played, you’re the one dealing the cards. I sent you off to bed last night thinking I’d been dealt a royal flush. This morning I appear to be looking at a busted hand. Why don’t you lay it out plain and tell me what has you madder than a wet hen?”
“I told you. I know why you’re here.”
“I thought I was here to help you, but if you know something different, maybe you ought to tell me what it is.”
His cautious tone of voice damned him. He wasn’t about to say anything she could use against him in court. Jake Stoner had been playing her for a sucker from the moment he’d waylaid her on the street in Trinidad. She’d trusted him, and he’d returned that trust with betrayal. “I don’t care if those darned papers are missing. Gordon Winthrop acquired this ranch through totally legal means, and no one will convince me otherwise. Not one cow, not one inch of ground, not one blade of grass belongs to you.”
“To me?”
He overdid it with the fake astonishment. Keeping her voice level, Gwen said, “I don’t care how many buried wills or titles or whatever you find in my house, it’s my house and my ranch and you and the rest of your Stoner relatives can’t have it.”
Crissie’s laughing voice floated through the open kitchen window as the little girl called to Mack. Mack yelped in happy excitement. They’d moved from the front porch to the back of the house. Gwen heard Doris’s voice from the direction of the garden. Doris liked to weed before the day grew too hot.
Trailing around after Tom, helping Doris, playing with Mack, Crissie had blossomed on the ranch, her little legs strengthened, her face lightly tanned. She was a different child from the little girl who’d cried for her mama and daddy every night last year. And then cried again when left at the day-care center. The pediatrician said Crissie was too young to understand what her parents’ deaths meant, and too young to understand Gwen had to go to work but would always return for her after work. All Crissie knew was her parents had abandoned her and she could never be sure Gwen wouldn’t do the same. For Crissie, the ranch not only meant a fun place to play, it meant security. Gwen would never allow anyone to take that security away from Crissie.
No one. Not even Jake. No matter how magically he kissed.
Jake sat motionless across the table; his entire body might have been carved from stone. His closed face hid his thoughts, but Gwen sensed his intense concentration as he sorted through the implications of what she’d said. He needn’t bother. There was no way he could convince her he hadn’t been serving her a dirty, rotten, underhanded trick from the moment he’d engineered a meeting with her.
He roused, stood, and walked over to the coffeepot to refill his mug. His back to her, he asked slowly, “You think I’m here to take the ranch away from you?”
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t.”
“This is a complication I hadn’t anticipated.”
“Thank you so much,” Gwen said sarcastically. “It’s nice to know you assumed I’d be stupid and easy to manipulate.”
Jake turned and leaned against the cabinet, sipping his coffee. “You’re not stupid,” he said absently. His eyes focused on a point somewhere behind her.
Dismissing her. Saying she wasn’t stupid in a tone of voice which clearly conveyed his total lack of interest in her as a person. He was a liar, a manipulator, a swindler, and a hypocrite. Pretending he enjoyed kiss
ing her. Kissing her stupid. And she was stupid. A co-worker in Denver had once said Gwen had a brain like a computer. If so, her computer had severely malfunctioned. She’d liked Jake’s kisses. Liked him. Thought he liked her.
And all the while he’d been kissing her, he’d been plotting to steal the ranch from her. He was worse than pond scum. Worse than head lice. If the old well wasn’t boarded up, she’d push him down it. Not once had he denied coming here to steal the ranch. Not that she’d believe any worthless denials. “Now that your filthy little secret’s out, I see no point in feeding you and housing you and giving you access to whatever it is you’re hunting for. I want you to leave. Any further communication between us will be through lawyers.”
“I’m going to check the rest of the fence this morning. Make sure our late-night visitors didn’t cut any other wires. We can talk about this later.”
Gwen put her hands in her lap. Safely away from her knife and the temptation to use it to carve her words into his forehead. “There’s nothing to talk about. You have one hour to pack. If you need a ride, Doris or Tom can take you to town in the pickup.” Her voice barely wobbled. Not that Jake Stoner would notice if she fell down on the floor and pounded the speckled linoleum with her fists in a grade-A tantrum. His entire concern was himself, the ranch, and how he could manipulate her past this turn of events. He couldn’t.
Jake started to say something, obviously changed his mind and headed for the back door, in passing lifting his wide-brimmed hat from the rack hanging by the door. His back to Gwen, he paused in the open doorway to carefully position his hat. “I don’t think it works like this,” he said in a vague, preoccupied voice. The door closed behind him.
Gwen wanted to scream after him that it worked exactly like this, but she couldn’t. She was incapable of any speech. She could only try to swallow over the huge, painful lump in her throat.
Granada casually ambled over at Jake’s whistle. Jake blew lightly into the large bay gelding’s nostrils. “Taking your own sweet time so I won’t think I’m the boss, aren’t you?” The horse nickered a soft greeting, and Jake patted the bay affectionately. He’d miss the horse when he left.
Not that he was considering packing. He’d leave when Michaels wanted him to leave. Gwen wouldn’t like it, but Jake had no more choice in the matter than she did. Not much he could do about her accusations, either. She’d never believe the truth.
Funny how she and this Bert took to each other. Not that Gwen wasn’t an attractive woman. Jake had thought about her in his bed from the moment he’d seen her, but Winthrop didn’t appear to be that kind of man.
Unlike Winthrop’s grandfather. Jake had seen the way Gordon Winthrop lusted after Marian. Winthrop hadn’t dared approach her while she was Jake’s woman. Jake’s mouth twisted. He’d been so busy worrying about riffraff like Winthrop, he’d missed what was going on under his nose. He’d brought Luther back to the ranch for a spell, and by the time Jake realized Marian never smiled at him like she smiled at Luther, it was too late. Luther, with his good looks and easy, devil-may-care charm, had already bedded Marian before returning to his outlaw friends without a backward look. Marian had come crying to Jake.
If the irony of the situation escaped her, it hadn’t escaped Jake. He now realized what he’d thought was love was merely his way of trying to climb above his humble beginnings. He’d fought hard to be the kind of man other men didn’t brush aside. Or use a whip on. He’d wanted a big place with a fancy house and a fancy wife. Marian with her airs and graces, her banker father and her expensive silk dresses had seemed perfect.
Jake smoothed the saddle blanket on Granada’s back, then turned to lift his saddle from the top rail of the corral. Activity across the way caught his eye. Leaning on the rail, a half smile on his face, he watched as Gwen came out the back door and called for Crissie. Gwen with her intelligent eyes and expressive face wouldn’t know a fancy air if it bit her on her nicely rounded, denim-clad bottom. Crissie ran from the garden, her plump, outstretched arms waving madly. Mack loped along behind the child.
Gwen’s crystal-clear laughter easily reached Jake at the corral as she practically danced from the house to meet her niece halfway. Gwen didn’t need silk dresses and French perfumes to be a woman. He liked her exuberance with Crissie, her nurturing spirit, her compassion, the feisty way she faced life.
He wondered if she’d bring those same attributes to bed.
Jake’s wandering mind snapped to attention as Gwen suddenly froze midstep.
She called sharply to her niece, “Crissie, stop, now. Don’t move. Pretend you’re a statue. Whatever you do, don’t move. This isn’t a game. There’s a snake on the path.”
Jake looked in the direction of Gwen’s horrified gaze. A large rattler lay on the path between the two. The day seemed unnaturally quiet. Except for the faint buzz which could be heard clear across the yard. Jake moved quickly from the corral.
“Gwen,” Crissie wailed. “I don’t like snakes.” She took a step toward her aunt. Moving her closer to the snake.
“Mack,” Jake called. “Hold Crissie.” He had no idea if the dog understood him, but Mack grabbed the back of Crissie’s shirt with his teeth. “Okay, pardner, stand very still. You’re okay,” he said in a calm voice. “Mack’s with you.”
He only had a second. Crissie couldn’t hold still for long. He glanced at Gwen and thought his heart might stop. She was slowly walking toward Crissie. And the snake. “Gwen, stop.” She took another step, her face white. And then he knew what she intended. He said the only thing which would stop her. “Hold still, Gwen. You’re going to frighten the snake into striking Crissie.” She froze. Jake started to tell her to back slowly away when he noticed a slight movement in the grass at the edge of the path behind her. “Don’t move at all,” he said deliberately, “no matter what, don’t move.”
Two loud shots exploded in the quiet morning, the sounds so close together the second could have been an echo of the first. Holstering the gun, Jake raced to the path. A quick check showed both snakes were dead.
Gwen stood rigid, her face bloodless. He had to deal with Crissie first. Kneeling beside her, he gave the little girl a quick squeeze before scratching Mack behind his ears. “Good dog, Mack.”
“I love Mack,” Crissie said. She twirled the dog’s ear around her finger. Mack gave her a besotted look.
Now the danger was past, Jake’s stomach turned to liquid, but he had to laugh at the dog’s expression. “You and Mack are a quite a pair,” he said.
Crissie smiled, having no idea why Jake laughed, but confident she and the dog had somehow pleased him. “I love you,” she said. “So does Mack.” She threw her arms around Jake’s neck. “I didn’t like the big noise.”
He drew her small body against him. “I know, pardner. I didn’t like to make the noise, but I had to. Those snakes could have hurt you or Gwen.” He liked having Crissie seek comfort in his arms. And felt a terrible loss that he’d never hold and comfort his own child. Closing his eyes for a second, he selfishly gave himself up to the pleasure of having small arms locked around his neck.
“Snakes? More than one?” Gwen asked in a shaky voice.
Jake stood, carrying Crissie up with him. Gwen’s eyes were enormous. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms with Crissie. “It’s not unusual for snakes to travel in pairs.” The way Gwen swallowed expressed her feelings more than words ever could.
“I wanna see snakes,” Crissie demanded, recovering quickly from her fright.
Gwen shuddered. “I don’t. Let’s go inside and sit down.”
“Let pardner see the snakes,” Jake said. “She needs to know what to avoid.” Bending down with the little girl, he pointed out the rattles and the patterned scales of the dead reptiles. “Never pick one of these up, pardner. Don’t pick up any snake unless Gwen or an adult you trust tells you the snake is okay. You understand?”
Mack walked stiff-legged up to the dead rattlesnake. Bending his front legs, he barke
d excitedly at the snake. “Mack doesn’t like snakes,” Crissie said. “Snakes are bad.”
Jake took hold of the dog before he could grab the snake. Dead snakes still had venom. “Snakes aren’t bad. They have their purpose, but they can bite. They are scared of people and would rather run away and hide from you, but if you frighten them, they will bite you and it will hurt a lot. These fellows might have thought you and Gwen were dangerous to them, and they might have bitten you, so I had to kill them. Usually if you stand very still and then back away very, very slowly, they will crawl away. The most important thing to remember is you don’t ever, ever pick one up. Okay, pardner?”
“Okay.”
Sensing Mack still wanted to make sure the snakes were dead, Jake guided the dog past the snakes and told Crissie to hold on to his collar. “Take him to the kitchen and tell Doris what a good dog he was and what a brave girl you were. Tell her to give you some of those cookies I smell baking. And Mack gets a treat.” He wanted them both out of the way before he gave Gwen a piece of his mind.
“Okay.”
“You’ll watch where you walk, won’t you, pardner?”
Crissie nodded her head violently. “I watch for snakes.” She tiptoed to the back door, her eyes glued to the ground.
Jake shook his head. “I hate to scare her, but if she’s going to live out here, she needs to learn to be careful. I’ll clean those up, but first—” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave Gwen a stony glare. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Never mind,” he snarled, “I know what you were doing. You thought the snake would strike at something moving before he’d strike at something standing still, so you were giving him a moving target. What kind of crazy, damned idiot are you?”